


Trigger

by Lempo Soi (Lemposoi)



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Guns, M/M, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-21
Updated: 2010-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemposoi/pseuds/Lempo%20Soi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan finds another one of Denny's triggers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trigger

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know shit about guns. Written for Kink-Bingo 2010 and totally unbetaed at the moment.
> 
> I may continue this later, I don't know. That just seemed like a good place to stop.

Let it never be said that Denny Crane was too old to appreciate modern innovations. True, Heckler &amp; Koch Mark 23 had been around for over ten years, but if it was too young to fuck, it was still new to Denny. 

The perfect model for shooting fish. Sturdy. Black as sin. Good grip. Powerful form. A real man's gun. Denny tested the grip and the aim happily, imagining each round exploding the lamp at the nightstand, or the second picture frame from the top, or the bedroom flatscreen. 

He became slowly aware of Alan Shore's quiet presence at the bedroom door. He'd been waiting for him. 

"Alan," said Denny, "how long have we been sharing this bed?" 

He turned half around and found that his instinct had been correct - not that he'd doubted it for a minute. Alan was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, wrapped in that vaguely disconcerting air of _looking_ he sometimes carried. He was wearing blue and white striped pyjamas, the matching pair of which stretched over Denny's rotund form. 

"Consecutively or intermittently?" Alan asked. 

"Cute. You know what I mean." 

"And yet so many wouldn't." 

"Don't ruin this with your sex talk. I'm trying to work up to something nice." 

"In that case, I apologise." Alan unlocked his arms and came over to sit on the bed next to Denny. "Two or three years, I believe." 

"What?" 

"We have now been sleeping together for two or three years, Denny." 

"Ah. Right. Two or three years is a long time." 

"Indeed." 

Denny pulled himself up and took Alan's hand. "That's why I think it's high time you got one of these." He slapped the gun soundly into Alan's palm. "To keep under your pillow. It's fully loaded. A beautiful handgun, and powerful. Just your kind of thing." 

Alan looked at the black block of steel in his hand. "Denny..." 

"I know what you're thinking. Denny Crane is as fast as he ever was, mad cow or not, but I figured it's not fair I should be the only one packing heat around here. What if a burglar came in while I was in the bathroom with my pants down?" 

"You keep a gun in the bathroom too, Denny." 

"That's true enough," Denny agreed happily. "There's always room for more, though, and this one is all yours. How do you like my choice? You'd be hard-pressed to pick anything but a winner with Heckler and Koch." 

Alan lifted the gun and slipped out the cartridges. "Hey!" Denny objected. "Always keep it loaded! What are you going to do, throw it at the bad guy?" 

"Denny, I suffer from night terrors. Remember? What if I wake up in the middle of the night convinced that you've turned into my worst enemy?" 

"You're saying you're too crazy to have a gun? To a man who's losing his mind to mad cow?" Denny bristled. "That's just the kind of talk I'd expect from a Democrat, but not from you, Alan." 

"I trust you, Denny," Alan said quietly. "So much so that I'm willing to sleep with a gun a few inches from my head. But not under my own pillow. At night, I don't trust _myself_enough for that. You do understand the distinction, Denny. Don't pretend you don't." 

Denny slumped, rage dissipating into disappointment. "I thought you'd be pleased." He took the empty gun from Alan's hand. "She's such a gorgeous thing. Look." He turned it around, cocked it, slid the chamber in and out, and slid his fingers along the barrel. 

He caught Alan watching him with a small smile, and frowned. "Don't you dare to study me. You know I hate it when you do. What is it now?" 

"It's the middle of the night and we've been drinking." 

"Just a few shots each." 

"Still, might that be justification enough to ask the obvious question, even if it is going to smack of liberal shorthand psychology?" 

Denny groaned. "This is going to be some kind of a gay phallic obsession thing, isn't it? Will you ever stop trying to get me to have sex with you?" 

"I haven't started yet." Alan took the gun from Denny's hand. This time he had to tug a little. "But you can hardly blame me for wondering. You're a highly sexed man, Denny, and these things are shaped like cocks and fire lethal projectiles - sex and violence and power all wrapped up in a kind of a celebration of American individuality. Tell me that isn't you all over, Denny." 

Denny raised his eyebrows. "When you put it like that, sure. Long as you're not saying there's anything gay about loving guns." 

"It depends," Alan said, holding the gun up. "Is this your cock substitute, or is it a fantasy of someone else's?" 

"Oh, come on!" 

"Every man is obsessed with at least one dick," Alan mused, looking at the gun, running his fingertips across it's length, two thumbs together along the barrel. Denny felt the sudden need to turn away, to not see what he was seeing in the context Alan had just conjured. Alan always did this sort of thing to him, damn him. Always. 

Instead he found his eyes riveted on the black steel under Alan's fingers. Denny swallowed.

Alan raised the weapon up, his hand on the trigger, palm firm against the handle. Denny followed the mouth of the barrel, lovingly projecting the bullet's potential trajectories. 

Alan kissed the barrel, just lightly, two thirds along its length. 

It was like reaching for a freshly baked roll and touching a hot plate. Denny recoiled, physically backing up until he was up against the head of the bed. "What the hell are you doing, Alan?" 

"What you always accuse me of," Alan said, gently rubbing the barrel against his face. "I'm trying to seduce you." He flicked his tongue out to lick the mouth, just once, quickly. 

_Goddamn Alan Shore._ Denny could not stop looking, and sweat was beginning to form on his brow. Denny wasn't in the habit of taking his little blue pill prior to going to bed with Alan Shore, but there it was now, all unbidden: a twitch of his cock, desire welling up entirely unbidden. 

Alan watched him as he slowly licked up all the length of the barrel, and closed his mouth over it. And suckled. 

Denny moaned aloud. "Alan," he begged. "Stop it." He was at half-mast and the flag just kept rising, and Denny Crane was not a man who could easily refuse orders from his cock, not after a certain point. 

Alan quickly obeyed, laying the gun in his lap. It was obviously a gesture meant to cut short the erotic play, but it wasn't working. Not with the gun lying so close to the bulge of his cock under the loose pyjama pants, flesh, cotton and metal all snug against each other.

"Why do you have to do these things?" Denny complained. "Trying to ruin innocent fun, friendship, guns. Why?" _How come you're so good at putting your smug fucking finger on all my buttons? _

"Denny," said Alan with a frown, as if trying to decide between the harsh truth and a placating lie. He placed a soothing hand on Denny's thigh, which jumped at the touch, and said, "I want to apologize, but... this is just how I am. I wouldn't be the lawyer I am if..." 

Denny grabbed Alan's head violently and pulled their foreheads together. His cock was throbbing and tight against the elastic band of his pants. "Shut up," he hissed, "and put that cock back in your mouth, you little slut." 

The cartridges rattled on to the floor as the mattress jumped.


End file.
